


The House on Greek Street

by UglyWettieWrites



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Cunnilingus, Drama & Romance, F/F, First Time, FitzWell, French Kissing, Lesbian Sex, Porn With Plot, Teasing, Wishful Thinking, give me all the lady love, they better not be queerbaiting or so help me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 14:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15687030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UglyWettieWrites/pseuds/UglyWettieWrites
Summary: Isabella dares to share a deeper comfort with Charlotte in their little house on Greek Street.[An extension of the parlor kiss scene between Lady Fitzwilliam and Charlotte in S02E06]





	The House on Greek Street

The house on Greek Street was in a joyful uproar. It felt like falling into warm water after the chill. Her heart beat so fast she was faint. She wanted to see Charlotte. Just … cast her eyes on her lovely face, and warn her of the danger. Then, she would go back to the manor. Back to the cold.

When Charlotte entered, she jumped up. The girl’s eyes widened, and she ran to the sofa.

“Sit. Please, my Lady,” she said, and extended her hand. The crackling fire flattered her exquisite cream and rose coloring, and her eyes were unguarded, and shining with life. That damnable bitch Quigley hadn’t hurt her. With a sigh, she sat, and Charlotte sat beside her. If her brother found her there, there was no telling what he might do. But now that she sat so close to her, words spilled out of her mouth. Expelled poison.

Someone besides Lydia knew now. About her daughter. And her intense shame. Charlotte’s eyes shone with empathy, and she spoke about her own woes. It made something in her shift.

“I’m cursed,” Charlotte said blithely, smiling. “You’re damned. What a pair we are.” Her bruised cornflower eyes glowed in the lamplight. Her soft breath smelled like the wine that flushed her cheeks. Isabella’s fingers tingled to touch her.

“No one has ever touched me since,” the Lady said. “No one ever will.” Her voice cracked with longing. For years, the declaration was set in stone. Her brother promised to destroy anyone who tried, so she hardened her heart to her suitors for their own safety. In the interim, it was easy because of her shame, anger, and confusion. She was cool as the marble that lined her halls until the daring Charlotte Wells knocked on her door, seemingly in the thrall of the Quigley viper. Since that day, the sense of impending danger made her breath short whenever she thought of her.

Charlotte shifted closer, wafting the scent of warm skin.

“Why should you forever be alone?” she said, and dared to caress her. Sweetness flooded her mouth. How long had it been since someone had touched her so tenderly? She couldn’t remember. “Let me break your spell.”

She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. But still she leaned forward and pressed her lips to hers. Charlotte let her lips linger until the Lady’s parted and kissed back. Isabella’s heart ached, and she didn’t have the strength or the desire to stop her. But still, she did.

She gently pushed her away and discreetly licked her bottom lip, which was still warm from Charlotte’s mouth.

“I must go. My brother is a beast, and so is Quigley. Please, be mindful,” she said, smoothing down her skirts.

Charlotte took her hand. “Then stay, my Lady. We will put our heads together and figure out the best course,” she said. The girl’s thumb rubbed the tender palm of her hand unconsciously, and desire flooded Isabella’s belly.

“Quigley might be bested. But not before she sees half of the nobility in flames,” she said, and reluctantly untangled herself.

“Then tell us how to deal with the problem,” Charlotte said. Her dark curls caressed her temples, but the Lady’s eyes lingered on the young woman’s bosom. It was white satin. She let out a quivering breath, and her eyes drifted back to Charlotte’s. After years of trade, she knew the look intimately well. But, for the first time, her own body responded to it. The feeling made her bold.

She grasped Isabella’s hands and kissed both of her palms passionately. They were perfumed with myrrh and leather, and her tongue darted out to taste. The woman moaned, ever so softly.

“Sweet girl,” she said softly, looking down on her. She hummed from head to toe with a breathless sensation she couldn’t begin to understand. “Is this how it feels?”

Charlotte pressed Isabella’s hand to her cheek, then kissed it. Lotte's lips, deliciously full and rose, rubbed on her knuckles. Her eyes closed, and her bosom, once white, was flushed.

“How what feels?” Charlotte said, and guided the Lady’s hand to her neck. Isabella felt her pulse, quick and strong, then brushed her fingertips on the silky skin. The Lady’s eyes, although beautiful, were perplexed. Isabella sank back to sitting, and Charlotte knelt in front of her. The girl’s hands whispered restlessly against the pink and red taffeta of her skirts, seeking warmth. She cupped the girl’s face in her hands, and her thumbs grazed her blushwarm cheeks.

“What must you have suffered? For how many years? How many spilled their lust into you, set alight by your beauty?” Isabella said, her brow furrowed.

Charlotte brushed away the thought. “I don’t care. It’s over.”

“Is it?” Isabella said, and her thumb dipped down to rub Charlotte’s lips. How could it be, when, to her despair, she knew how they felt. The need to taste, and touch, and possess…

Again, she jumped up and ran to the door, but Charlotte stood in front of it.

“Does it matter?” she said. She panted softly. “Stay. Come upstairs with me.”

“That’s the second time you said it,” Isabella said. And how it ached.

“I meant it then. And I mean it now.” She reached out to caress the Lady’s neck. She wanted to lick the pearls shiny, taste her perfumed flesh. The image of the strings snapping, and pearls clicking free on the carpeted floor as her mouth explored the Lady’s bosom made her tremble with passion. Isabella noticed, and bit her lip.

“I can’t,” she said. It came out a strangled whisper. She cleared her throat. “Please, let me through.”

“Isabella...” Charlotte said, with an alien tenderness that broke her. Never in all her days had she ever wanted to own that name more.

“Now,” she said louder, eyes forward. Charlotte moved, and she gracefully swung her cloak around her and drew up the hood. Her eyes shone feverishly, but she walked down the hall and out of the house.

“Fuck it,” Charlotte said, and grabbed her own from the hook and followed. The Lady’s steps were long, so she was already at the end of the street. She looked like a blossom cast in filth in that place. She ran up to her, arms outstretched. “Isab-”

The woman turned quickly, put her hand over her mouth, and jumped into an alley.

“Are you mad? If someone hears I’m walking the streets at night like a harlot-” she stopped, and withdrew her hand. “I apologize.”

“You didn’t offend. I was never a common doxy,” Charlotte said casually.

The Lady pressed her against the damp brick. “You’re not a common anything.” Charlotte’s face bloomed with a smile that broke Isabella’s heart. “After the horror, how could still remain so … devastating?”

“I was born this way, last I checked,” Charlotte said. “And it wasn’t as horrible as that. I’m alive, well-fed, and ankle-deep in a puddle talking to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. Life could be worse.” Isabella looked down and clicked her tongue. She wasn’t lying. She pulled her deeper into the alley. Suggestive sounds drifted from somewhere nearby. “I guess someone’s hard at work,” Charlotte said. Soft feminine moans drifted to them, then a long, rough male grunt. “And … work’s done.”

Even in the penumbra, she saw the Lady flush. They heard grinding footsteps as the whore and her cull walked back to the street. In a flash, Charlotte wrapped her arm around Isabella’s waist and kissed her. Their hoods hid their faces, and the couple passed without a word.

The darkness gave her courage. She grasped Charlotte’s tiny waist and kissed her back, just as passionately. She moaned as the girl’s tongue brushed her bottom lip, and greedily thrust her own between Charlotte’s parted lips. Her body stiffened. _Hot and wet_. She felt the caress of her tongue everywhere. Her nipples hardened painfully against her corset. She tasted like … rainwater. Surprisingly clean.

Isabella breathed into her mouth and rolled her tongue along the girl’s teeth. Her stomach was in knots with desire. It grew exponentially in her, flashing white hot. She parted the girl’s cloak and her hands traveled up to the firm mounds of her breasts and squeezed. Charlotte arched into her touch and moaned. Isabella pressed her against the dirty brick, hard.

“Oof!” she said, but she smiled into the Lady’s mouth. Charlotte squeezed the back of her neck, encouraging her. Her heart was full. This is what it’s like. Why people will renounce hearth and home and security, for a feeling. Her questing tongue. Her body, taut and eager against her. This is what Daniel was willing to rot in gaol for. Now, she understood, and pity and sympathy flooded her chest for all the men and woman who once clung to her, drunk with passion. Now she was the one clinging to the Lady’s skirt, desperate for even a taste of her affection.

She raised her skirts and guided Isabella’s hand to the hot flesh just above her stockings. The Lady caressed, then squeezed the insides of her thighs above her bloomers. Oh, they were damp. She groaned when she smelled lavender and musk, then bit the girl’s lip. Charlotte yipped, and rolled her hips into her touch.

Let me bleed,  she thought ecstatically when she tasted copper. For the first goddamned time since she was 11, it was worth it. She leaned back and let the Lady suck on her bruised lip, then guided her hand higher. When Isabella’s fingertips brushed wet hair, she jumped back.

She panted and wiped her salivaslick mouth, staring at Charlotte. Her eyes were on fire. She wasn’t merely damp. She was wet. Dripping enough to coat her fingers. She rubbed them together, curiously. She had only felt herself until now. Charlotte’s musk made its way into her brain, and she moaned, softly, again. Soon, her fingers were sticky, not wet. She wanted them wet.

“I understand,” she said. Her voice was soft against the cajoling cries of the harlots looking for custom on the street.

“What, my Lady?” Charlotte said. She let her skirts drop, and she gave her a private smile that made Isabella’s knees weak.  She was too experienced. She had only vague images in her id of what she ached to do and feel and taste, but no reference. Her clumsy passion couldn’t possibly satisfy _her_.

“I can’t,” she said. Her arousal trickled down her thighs. It was a new, heady sensation. It made her feel … like a part of humanity. And it was extraordinary.

“You can,” Charlotte said, leaning into her. If Isabella aroused her like this and left, she would burn to ash on her narrow bed. Charlotte’s long lashes cast shadows on her temple, and her eyes were violet in the semi-darkness. When she caressed her cheek, her musk made them both sigh.

“My brother. He will know. And he might …” she couldn’t even bear to utter it. She stiffened. She had to go, if she were to have any peace. But what of it? It was a barren, horrifically lonely feeling, which had grown unbearable when she met Charlotte. Maybe it was better to burn than to be numb.

“Come, my Lady. We’re safe for now. I suppose that’s all we could ever hope for,” Charlotte said, and took her hand. She pulled the hood over Isabella’s head - as if it would conceal the highly coiffed wig, and the wideness of her silk skirts - and they walked quickly back to the house. She followed silently behind as Lotte grabbed a candelabra, guided her up the stairs and into the room at the end of the hall, where there was only a toilette table and a narrow feather bed. Charlotte grabbed her and kissed her again, this time daring to squeeze her waist and tug at the lace at her bust. She took the girl’s face in her hands and licked her smiling lips.

“Obviously, this room isn’t for business,” Charlotte said, throwing her cloak aside with a smile. “It’s where Lucy slept before Ma put her to work.”

The Lady looked around. It was spare, but clean. And the featherbed looked intensely inviting. She darted forward to touch Charlotte, but the girl moved aside quickly and produced a bottle of cognac from a toilette table drawer. Isabella wrapped her arms around her, glorying in the intimacy. Charlotte lightly kissed her nose and brought out two glasses.

“We’re gonna have a toast,” she said, filled the glasses, and handed the Lady one. She sniffed it and her eyebrow rose.

“This is very fine, Ms. Wells,” she said.

“It was a gift,” she said. The Lady’s eyes filled with fear.

“Of course not from him,” she said. “I wouldn’t. It was from a lovesick fop with entirely too much money to spend on flesh.”

“Ah,” she said. Her brow furrowed. Charlotte sucked on her lip. It still ached from the Lady’s hunger.

“Not my flesh, obviously,” Charlotte said. “I nicked it from Lucy.” She drew near and looked up at Isabella. “I don’t want to think about anything or anyone but you, my Lady.” She gently clinked her glass, then they drank deep. Immediately, there was fire in her blood. She wanted to reach out for her, but instead she reached into a hidden pocket in her skirts and pressed her fat kidskin purse into Charlotte’s hands. The girl’s face dropped.

“For my beauty?” she said. Her eyes were instantly rimmed with tears. Not her too. Not after what they already shared.

“No, no, no, poppet,” Isabella said, caressing her. “ _For your bravery_. You risked life and limb to free that girl last night. This is to help with the efforts against the Quigley woman.” she said.

Charlotte threw the bag on the table. “You’ve done more than enough, and put yourself in harm’s way too,” she said. “We’ve done well enough before. And this isn’t about that,” she said, touching her. “I want nothing more than to feel your warmth. That is gift enough.” Charlotte ghosted her hand on the Lady’s wig and giggled. “Can I…” she said, tugging on the hairpiece. Isabella nodded. Charlotte carefully removed the wig and placed it on the empty stand on the toilette table. She caressed Isabella’s sweat-wilted curls.

“You’re so beautiful,” Charlotte said, and kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose, then her parted lips. Her tenderness made her want to cry out her strangled joy.  Isabella held her tight and kissed her again, deeply. It was hard to breathe. Her hand went into Charlotte’s skirts and pulled. She wanted to hear tearing, wanted to see the delicious thighs she fondled to be exposed. She kissed her lips, but she was hungry for the rest of her. She kissed down her jaw to her neck, then licked from behind her jaw to her clavicle.

“My Lady,” Charlotte moaned, her hands restless in her hair. She rubbed her overheated lips the tops of Charlotte’s breasts. Her head spun. She saw and tasted white, but she ached to see the pebbled pink of her nipples. Swollen, enticing, and wet with her saliva. She wanted to suck, and suck…

Something tore, and Charlotte let out a hoarse giggle. She stopped, and there was a silk ribbon in her clenched fist.

“You ripped my gown. Might as well get rid of it,” Charlotte said. She took a step back and began to strip.

Isabella gasped. “Please. Let me,” she said.

Charlotte’s eyes danced with mirth. “With all due respect, would you know how?” she said.

“Oh, I see. You’re funny,” Isabella said. She fingered the hidden ties at her hips and tugged them loose. “When I was younger, I couldn’t stand the thought of strangers touching me,” she said as she worked. “To my brother’s chagrin, I refused to let the servants near me and learned how to dress myself. He called me his little savage.” She threw the articles of clothing aside, and her breathing quickened as more and more of Charlotte was exposed.

“Savage remains to be seen,” Charlotte said as the Lady’s fingers moved deftly to loosen her corset. “But not his. Never.” She cupped her face in her hands. Isabella’s fingers turned to claws that ripped at the corset, pulling it down over Charlotte’s narrow hips. She dropped to her knees and hastily untied the ribbons of her bloomers, but when they were loose, she stopped. She saw promising darkness through the thin fabric, and she was suddenly hit with the need to make the feeling last. She looked up at Charlotte. The girl traced the line of her jaw.

“Are you afraid?” she said. There was a mix of desire and curiosity in her eyes.

“No,” Isabella said, and gently pulled down her bloomers to her hips. Her skin was was smooth, unmarked, unlike her own. She pressed her lips inside where her hip bone flared and took a deep breath. Her musk made her groan. She closed her eyes tight as her mouth moved steadily toward the middle. Charlotte’s belly trembled against her lips, then she gasped when she finally felt hair.

She was a woman. A bundle of trembling, aching life. Like her. Yet, completely unlike her, she wasn’t caged. She let the bloomers drop to the floor and looked at her. Charlotte’s thighs were beautifully firm, but not plump. She had rider’s thighs, taut and muscular.

 _Rider’s thighs_. She giggled into the girl’s belly as her hands moved up the back of her thighs to cup her ass. She let out a low moan. There, she was soft.

“Come, my Lady,” she said, pulling her up. “I want to see you nude and aching on my bed,” she said.

“You are bold,” Isabella said as Charlotte expertly stripped her.

“Does it please you?” She wiggled her eyebrows at her as she ripped off her skirts, then threw aside her hips pads.

“Anything you do pleases me,” Isabella said, watching her bare breasts jiggle as she worked on her corset. She cupped them in her hands and moved to suck, but Charlotte pressed against her as she finished loosening her corset and pulled it down. It was more difficult, since the Lady’s hips flared lushly. Charlotte dropped to her knees and kept at it until the corset finally fell to the floor. Isabella kicked it aside and pressed the girl’s hand to her belly. Charlotte’s touch on her bare skin made her want to weep. Charlotte gently tugged on the satin ribbons holding her bloomers up, and they slid to her ankles. Now, she stood before her only in the sheerest of chemises, her rose nipples poking enticing through the fabric. She was all melting curves. Charlotte swallowed hard.

“How could you hide such beauty?” she said quietly as her hands moved up the outside of her thighs. “You’re a goddess.”

“If so, I was stripped of my power long ago,” she said, and pulled Charlotte’s curls free. She took off her chemise and lay on the bed. Charlotte stared at her hungrily. She had long legs, but unlike hers, her knees dimpled over her stockings, and her thighs were lush. And, between them, her silky curls were sparse enough she saw glistening, needy pink. Her belly was soft and her breasts were full and firm. And, most beautifully, her eyes gleamed blue-hot.

She didn’t know where to start.

“Not so, my Lady,” she said, climbing into bed and lying beside her. “You are singularly powerful.” She ghosted her hand along the curve of her breasts to her belly, and pressed her palm there. “Where would you have me touch you?”

“Have you ever been with another woman, Charlotte?” Isabella asked. The girl looked down and smiled. "Perhaps it was an improper question,” she said. Charlotte straddled her hips. She breathed her sweet breath on her lips, then pressed them to the corner of Isabella’s mouth. Her firm breasts pressed against her own, and she caressed up the girl’s back.

“Let’s not speak of the past, my Lady,” she said as she caressed down her neck to her breasts. When her fingertips brushed her nipple, she gasped. “There’s too much good happening in the present.” She kissed her softly as she squeezed her breast. Her silky flesh dimpled between her fingers. Charlotte loved breasts. Large and small, firm or soft as down pillows. When she was younger, she thought that perhaps it was just a keen love of beauty. But did a mere love of beauty make other women breathless and wet? Was her deep-seated disgust of men’s needling, panting lust just because her attentions were purchased, or was there more to it?

Charlotte licked down her neck, and the Lady’s pearls clicked against her teeth. They were warm, but she was hot. Her hands traveled down her sides to squeeze her hips. Isabella spread her legs.

“Do you want me between your thighs?” she said, as her kisses moved down to her breasts.

“Yes,” Isabella said. Charlotte caressed steadily larger circles on her belly and her lips brushed first one hard nipple, then the other. “Please.”

“A word I rarely hear,” Charlotte said, and licked a circle around her nipple. Isabella groaned. The feel of her tongue alone after years of nothing made her twitch with the need to come. She licked lazy circles around her other nipple. Her toes curled. She wanted her to suck.

“Please,” Isabella said again, more ecstatically.

“Such a beautiful word, coming from as exquisite a mouth as yours,” she said, and rubbed her fat bottom lip on her stiff nipple. She massaged her belly and moved down steadily. She squeezed her breast into a silky mound and made her lips into a large O and pressed them to her areola. She sucked at her flesh, but it was a tease since her circling tongue didn’t touch her nipple. Her other hand brushed her mound. Isabella opened her legs wider, willing her to move. She wanted to feel her narrow hips move between her thighs.

Finally, her tongue brushed her nipple. She arched.

“Yes! Suck,” she said. “Bite.” She pressed her into her breasts. Charlotte obliged, teasing and sucking her nipples until they were stiff rose beads against her tongue. The woman shivered as she felt the edge of her teeth against one. Charlotte took her time, kissing and licking the Lady’s breasts and feeling her own hunger grow.

“I would do this forever,” Charlotte said into her flesh, and finally straddled the Lady’s thigh. Isabella moaned as she felt Charlotte’s wetness against her hip, and her taut thigh press against her. It was so hot. So silky. Her mouth filled with saliva and she squeezed the girl’s ass as she began to grind against her. Her netherlips parted against her hip bone and she felt the heart of it.

Her center. Her quim. The words made her flush redder, but she felt powerful. Underneath the asphyxiating trappings of nobility, she had one too. Her cunny. And it was just as hot and wet for her.

“Isabella,” Charlotte whispered into her breasts, and her hand went between her legs and parted her lips. When the girl found her clit, she cried out, then bit her lip to silence herself. Charlotte smiled up at her as her fingers massaged her outer lips from top to bottom, caressing everything but where it mattered. Still, it made her breathless.

“Don’t be shy, my Lady,” she said as her fingers parted her lips and rubbed the ruffled pink between them, still teasing. “Sounds of pleasure are not an uncommon thing here.” Her fingers massaged tighter and tighter circles around her opening. The pressure was confident and firm, and her head fell back to the pillows. “You’re dripping honey,” Charlotte said, and she moved down to look at her. The Lady raised her head.

“Where are you going?” she said. Charlotte settled comfortably between her thighs, her touch steady.

“You feel so beautiful. I want to see you,” she said, and licked her lips as she got a closer look. She was delectable. Rose and slick and begging to be tasted. She parted her lips to look at her bud. It was fat, and pulsing with need.

“I think you’re ready,” Charlotte said, and pressed right underneath it with the pad of her thumb. Her opening twitched with sensation.

“For what?” Isabella said. “Come back up, darling.”

 _Darling_. She really liked that.

“For this,” she said, and held her open as she gave her clit a slow, broad lick. The woman grunted and sat up, panting.

“What are you doing?” she said. Charlotte resisted the urge to laugh. Dear, sweet Lady. She was so innocent, still.

“It’s a french lick. Way better than a french kiss,” she said, and bowed to lick her again while looking right at her. Her thighs trembled against her shoulders.

“And people … do this?” Isabella said. She brushed the hair from Charlotte’s forehead tenderly. The girl’s tongue moved down to her opening, then swirled back to her clit.

“Mmmhmmm,” Charlotte said, scooting closer and gently pushing her back to lying down. She caressed her thighs as her tongue moved back to her opening and massaged, and massaged, and massaged until she twitched against then, then back up to tease her bud. The Lady’s hands raked through Charlotte’s hair. How could such a pleasure exist? And why didn’t everyone rave about it? She wondered how she had gone so long not knowing this sensation. Charlotte sighed, then sucked her erect clit into her mouth.

“Bloody hell!” Isabella said, arching off the bed.

Charlotte giggled. “What a filthy mouth you have,” she said as she continued to lick, then suck, then lick slowly, then suck... The Lady let out a low, feral groan.

“Stop!” she said in an authoritarian tone that made Charlotte sit up.

“Have I displeased you?” she said, sitting up and wiping her chin. The Lady stared at her for a few seconds.

“My turn,” she said, and pulled her up and fell on her. She was ravenous. She sucked her whole breast into her mouth, then the other.

“Take your time. You have me for as long as you wish to have me,” Charlotte said, but she was delighted by Isabella’s passion. This is who she knew was underneath the stiff fabric and controlled misery. Maybe her brother was right. She was a savage. She licked her breasts wet and sucked her nipples hard enough to make her bite her lips and groan. She moved up to kiss her neck as her hands kneaded her firm breasts, and surprisingly, she sucked at her smooth flesh. Charlotte squealed, but pressed her closer. She didn’t care if the Lady marked her. She would wear it a a proud emblem of her emancipation. For once, it was wanted.

“Oh, sweet girl,” she whispered as she pressed her hand against her flat belly, and scratched pink down her thighs. “Delicious creature.” She licked at the suck marks on her neck, then kissed her mouth hungrily. They rolled around and squeezed at each other as they kissed, lost to the sensation. Charlotte was dazzled by her own passion as her hands moved haphazardly over Isabella’s body, with no rhyme or reason - her brain roared too loudly with desire to think about what she knew about giving pleasure. Now she saw why men pawed and clawed and gasped like landed fishes between her thighs, while her mind remained clear, thinking on exactly how to sound and move to make them conclude faster.

Isabella slid her thigh between Charlotte’s legs and ground on her, as they kissed and sucked each other’s mouths. The girl squeezed her ass and wrapped her leg around her.

“So good,” she said as the woman shook her bones with her passion. She stopped and her hand went from her breasts to her cunt, and she let out guttural moan at Charlotte’s heat. She barely brushed her clit, then slid two fingers inside her. Isabella gasped. This is what cunny feels like. She curled and opened her two fingers, stretching her. The girl writhed underneath her, panting. She added another finger and they moaned together at the snug fit. Her fingers were not a cock. But it still felt so good to touch her, deep inside. Her strong, young muscles gripped her fingers, urging her to pump. “Isabella…”

She withdrew her fingers. “Come,” she said, and moved so the girl could change positions. “Get on your belly.” Charlotte obeyed, and her movements were deliciously lazy with pleasure.

“What do you plan to do with me?” she said as she looked back at her.

“Everything, darling,” she said. Isabella got behind her and looked at her prone form. She was so young and firm and- she swallowed hard. “Could you … get on your knees?”

The girl complied with a smile and a raised eyebrow. She wiggled her ass and spread her knees wide. Again, she recognized the feral hunger in Isabella’s gaze. But it was different. She wanted to fan those flame. She rolled her hips wantonly, and felt herself begin to drip.

“Do I please you?” Charlotte said. She caressed up her own thighs, squeezed, then spread her lips so the woman could see her clearly. Her fingers glistened with her copious wetness, and she rubbed her winking opening.

“You’re so enticing,” Isabella said. “It makes me feel very French.”

Charlotte chuckled. “Oh yeah?”

“Mmmhmm,” the Lady nodded and bent to take a closer look. Her holes winked at her proximity. “Ooh, that’s pretty.” She licked her finger and touched from the small of her back to her ass. Again, it winked against her fingertip. “Do people french it too?” she said softly.

Charlotte smiled. “You can taste me anywhere. But do it quick, before I burst into flame.”

“Never that,” Isabella said, and kissed the smooth, jiggling flesh of her bottom, moving steadily closer to the cleft. When her tongue laved her hole, Charlotte moaned loudly. It set something off in her, and Isabella grabbed her hips and buried her mouth there, licking, and sucking her own eager saliva. She tasted a hint of her musk and her tongue followed it down to her cunt. Her tongue swirled between Charlotte’s ruffled folds and found her clit.

Charlotte bucked and held the Lady’s head there as she ground into her mouth. Her eyes drifted to the table where her wig slumped on the form, and her hand turned into a fist in her hair. The woman’s mouth wasn’t practiced, but it was extraordinarily hungry. Her tongue darted deeper and deeper inside her until she was literally riding it. She was dripping sweat. Her clit was on fire even though the lady was so enamored with her hole she forgot about it.

After years of fanning lust, now it was her turn to be a dumb slave to it. Her breasts and neck shone with sweat and her heart beat hard in her ears. Isabella’s tongue was better than cock, prehensile and thirsty and velvety. She opened wider for it, her lips curved into a joyful grin. The Lady wanted to taste and feel her filled even more, so she slid two fingers inside along with her tongue.

Charlotte groaned. “Yes. Yes. Like that, your Ladyship,” she said. Without being told, she found her center. Isabella’s tongue traveled back to her other hole as she slid another finger inside her and massaged her. The girl was trembling with pleasure. Her own cunny dripped down her thighs, but she concentrated as she felt something growing. Energy. Desire.

The girl’s beautiful face changed into a rictus of agony. She had her. She _felt_ it. She kept massaging, watching her face for a sign. Charlotte’s head drooped to the pillow, and her eyelids were heavy. She was gonna come. Hard. Visibly. The feeling, once so elusive, rose from her cunt and up her spine in growing waves. Isabella felt her opening up, and getting wetter. She kissed her hips and knew not to ruin the rhythm. Charlotte’s hands turned to fists on the sheets. She couldn’t believe it. She had not come in years, and now…

She cried out and her cunt twitched around Isabella’s fingers. Liquid dripped freely from her cunny and to the sheets below, and she writhed and bucked and pressed the Lady’s hand on her as she rode out her orgasm. Charlotte pulled Isabella up and threw her on the bed. She raised her knees up high and started to fondle her, but just as she was about to slide a finger inside her, the Lady stiffened.

“Wait-” she took Charlotte’s hand and kissed it. Charlotte laid beside her and stroked her sweaty hair.

“It’s been quite a night,” she said.

Isabella flushed with embarrassment. She knew the moment would come, but for many years, it had been easy to ignore.

“It’s the…” the Lady sighed, and she looked away. Charlotte gently cupped her chin and turned her face to meet her gaze.

“Isabella, you can be sure of my discretion. We’ve already got so many secrets in common,” she said, and kissed her.

“I’ve ruined the mood,” she said. “Silly me.”

“No,” Charlotte said, and pressed the Lady’s hand to her breast. Isabella exhaled.

“My brother … he, uh, he hurt me. What’s worse, he meant to. I was young, and new, and no one ever spoke about such things. I know he he could’ve been kinder, but like a beast, he was out for blood. He wasn’t satisfied without it. Even after he left, and my belly swelled, I was plagued with nightmares. In fact, my whole life was a nightmare. Despite my suffering, I was compelled to save my baby. What fault did she have to be born of his evil? I did the most difficult thing a mother can do - I gave her up. For her own safety. But ever since, even in the years that he was away, I knew he planted something further in me. Pain. And deep, deep terror. I was … broken. Am broken, and I can’t stand the thought of someone touching me there, stirring up the filth he left.”

Charlotte listened, and felt a deeper empathy with her.

“What would you have me do?” she asked again.

“Let’s lie here together, in this cozy, warm little room, and dream a while,” she said. She took Charlotte in her arms and kissed her face, then her lips.

“My Lady, if I could do anything to wipe the slate clean, I would. You don’t deserve to be bogged down with a shame and misery that’s not yours. He’s the monster, not you.”

She smiled at the sweet, young, improbably innocent girl.  “You’ve already done so much, poppet,” Isabella said, and caressed her body. 

“I have a wish,” Charlotte said.

“And what is it? Even if it’s a castle, covered in moss, I’ll do anything to give it to you,” she said, but she smiled. She felt, deep in her bones, that Charlotte wasn’t just interested in her wealth.

“That this won’t be the only time I’m in your arms like this,” she said, and tucked her face in the Lady’s neck. “That we’ll have many nights to explore each other.”

“I like it,” Isabella said, and kissed Charlotte’s forehead. As ever, pain settled, leadlike, in her belly. The beast had eyes everywhere, ripping claws and a neverending appetite for blood. She had no doubt he would sniff her out soon enough. What his hubris didn't allow him to see is that she too had a nose for blood. She was clever too. She had discovered all manner of secrets, and even if he didn’t know it, she held an axe over his perfectly coiffed head. Soon, maybe sooner than she planned, she would let it fall.

“Yes, darling,” she said, and nuzzled Charlotte’s temple. “We will have many, many nights like this. And days to live and love. This I promise.”

Charlotte gave her a sweet smile, then settled on her chest. Even as the girl’s breath slowed and deepened into sleep, the Lady’s mind clicked and plotted.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: since writing w|w can get confusing when it comes to using she/her, I used 'the woman' or 'the Lady' to add variety when referring to Lady Fitzwilliam, and 'the girl' when referring to Charlotte. 
> 
> Obviously, both of them are grown women, although one is a fair bit older than the other. I hope this didn't offend anyone. I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
